


Conatus

by Amaranth_dreams



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Crime Fighting, F/M, Original Character(s), Robot/Human Relationships, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 03:09:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15110570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amaranth_dreams/pseuds/Amaranth_dreams
Summary: Detroit is not what it used to be, the city balancing on the precipice of war. The anti-android groups protest in the streets, calling out the government and CyberLife for their complacency in the loss of human jobs, all while the androids begin to turn against their abusive masters. Connor, prototype model RK-800, is assigned the task to investigate the recent surge in deviancy within android programming. His mission is to work with the Detroit City Police Department and restore order back to society, but what happens when Connor uncovers something far more daunting along the way?





	Conatus

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! 
> 
> This fic revolves around actual events in the game, but with some alterations. The chapters go in the same order as Connor’s story arc, but some characters will be introduced earlier than they appear in the game, to allow for the introduction of the OC/reader character. 
> 
> This story will be written entirely in third person (through personal preference) where I have assigned the OC/reader character a surname but have yet to choose a first name, so if anyone has any recommendations, please comment and let me know. So while this may deviate from the usual character x reader fics (in second person POV), it was written with the reader in mind, so please feel free to change/ignore the OC’s name in the story if you would prefer to. 
> 
> In regards to updates, I will try to update as soon as possible, but I am also currently writing my research thesis for University. So if I disappear from the face of the Earth, it’ll be because I’m buried under endless research papers and data analyses, but I promise I will be back. 
> 
> A huge thanks to my Beta, Sardonyx! Love you!
> 
> Thanks everyone! Enjoy!
> 
> ~Amaranth_dreams

I

 

_Gusts of wind from the helicopter’s blades tear across the apartment terrace, flipping the outdoor furnishings. A blinding spotlight focuses on the deviant android balancing on the ledge of the building, the little girl gripped tightly to its chest and the glinting metal of a gun pointed at her temple._

 

_“Hi, Daniel. My Name is Connor.”_

 

_Another android steps forward, the negotiator sent by CyberLife, its hair rustling wildly in the wind. It’s dressed in a modified android uniform, the model number, RK800, printed on the back of its pewter and lead grey blazer. The dark fabric does little hide the jaggard bullet hole in it’s left bicep, blue blood slowly leaking from the fresh gaping wound._

 

_“How do you know my name?”_

 

_The negotiator slowly steps forward, its moves careful and precise._

 

_“I know you’re angry, Daniel. But you need to trust me, and let me help you.”_

 

 _“I don’t want your help! Nobody can help me!” All I want is for all this to stop… I just want it to stop.” The deviant pauses, its arm extending and focusing its aim on Connor. Its arm trembles, like it's struggling with the weight of the gun. Like a_ human _would_ . _“Are you armed?”_

 

_“Yes. I have a gun.” The negotiator answers truthfully._

 

_“Drop it. No sudden moves, or I’ll shoot!”_

 

_The negotiator slowly reaches back, pulling out the gun from its waistband. It throws it off to the right, the weapon clattering against the concrete floor. “There, no more gun.”_

 

_“I know you and Emma were very close.” The negotiator creeps forward, its arms stretched slightly outward and palms facing the ground placatingly. “You think she betrayed you - but she’s done nothing wrong.”_

 

_“She lied to me…” The deviant sways with the wind, its voice shaking. “I thought she loved me, but I was wrong. She’s just like all of the other humans.”_

 

_“Daniel, no…” The little girl cries out, struggling against the deviant’s hold._

 

_“Listen, I know it’s not your fault. These emotions you’re feeling are just errors in your software.”_

 

_“No, it’s not my fault. I never wanted this.” The deviant’s LED flashes yellow, the light flickering wildly. “I loved them, you know? But I was nothing to them, just a slave to be ordered around._

 

_“Are you okay, Emma?” The negotiator steers the conversation back to the girl._

 

_“Please help me. I don’t wanna die!” Emma whimpers, “I don’t wanna die…”_

 

_“Nobody’s going to die.” The negotiator creeps forward once more. “Stay calm. Everything is going to be fine.”_

 

Hank slumps back into his desk chair with a deep sigh, his calloused fingers hovering over the pause button of the control panel. The negotiator, this _android,_ was completely right. It _had_ saved the little girl’s life. Where one of their _own_ had failed, a _machine_ , a heap of plastic and fucking circuit boards managed to reunite the child with her panicked mother. Hank flicks his wrist, watching the footage jerk as it fast forwards. The playback quality isn’t the best, coming from a SWAT agent’s mounted chest-armour camera. But it’s clear enough to see the android lean down, tugging at the perfect knot of it’s tie and applying a tourniquet for an injured officer.

 

Hank pauses the video before letting his eyes flicker across to Robinson’s desk, frowning at the small, framed picture of the officer’s six year old daughter that stares back at him. An abandoned half-filled mug of stale coffee sits next to the photo, left behind in a hurry when Robinson was on duty last night as a first responder to the distress call. The apartment complex was just around the corner from the precinct, only a couple of blocks away, and all the active police patrol units had an ETA of at least ten minutes. Hank remembers getting a call from Robinson, automatically ignoring the shrill ring of his mobile phone and drowning it out with the grungy, loud ambiance of the bar. He’d only listened to the young officer’s bright voicemail, alerting Hank of the situation and offering for him and Deckart to go in Hank’s place, after seeing news broadcast on the bar’s television.

 

Hank can’t help but flinch when he finally gathers the strength to look over at Deckart’s desk, right next to Robinson’s. The space only has a few items on it, the officer not having time to personalise it yet. He was new to the precinct, only transferring over from the San Francisco Police Department last week. His welcome flowers still sit in a vase next to his computer monitor, a dark irony as the petals begin to wilt. No-one has been willing to clear his desk yet, so Deckart’s uniform jacket is still draped across the back of his desk chair. Hank rests his arms against the edge of the desk, burying his face in his hands. He wonders who had to break the news to Rachael this morning, the poor bastard who had to tell her that her boyfriend was killed during a routine code response. The two had moved to Detroit for a fresh start, a new chapter of their lives, and a fucking _android_ took that chance away from them.

 

It should have been Hank at that apartment complex last night, should have been _him_ that was shot, not the two officers. Hell, it should have been him, not Deckart who died. He’s been pissing away the days for the past two weeks, avoiding work after being temporarily suspended from active investigations. Captain Fowler threw him in with the new recruits to punish him. He's been stuck responding to domestic calls and pushing paperwork all because Agent-fucking-Perkins lodged a petty complaint with his superiors over some stupid comments. Hank _may_ have also punched the uptight bastard in the face, but the asshole had it coming.

 

Guilt settles into his aching bones.

 

 _He_ should have been there last night, but he was too busy searching for the answer to his problems at the bottom of a goddamn whiskey glass. Hank is reason that Robinson’s daughter and wife stayed at the hospital until the early hours of the morning, watching on and not knowing if their loved one would survive the night. _He_ is the reason Robinson will need to spend the next couple of months in physical therapy trying to regain full mobility in his arm. _He_ is the reason Deckart is dead.

 

Hank curls his fist against glass panel, his knuckles turning white. Frustration and guilt leave a tightness in his chest, at the situation and at himself.

 

Everything is just… _wrong._

 

Hank smashes his curled fist against the control panel, jerking the video back to life. He pointedly ignores the startled stares from the other officers and detectives, knowing that most of them look at him with pity in their eyes. The drunken detective who clings onto his grief like a madman, that’s what everyone at the precinct knows him as. And they’re right.

 

For once, Hank just wants everything to be simple, for the world to be in straight black and white. He doesn’t want complications or doubts, he just wants the truth and justice. Is it too much to fucking ask for?

 

The video is now nearing the end, the negotiator is only a couple of metres away from the deviant. Hank keeps his gaze trained on the screen, disregarding the fact he’s watched the clip on loop for the past hour. The hostile android lets the girl go _willingly_ , without further violence or injury. The negotiator managed to gain the deviant’s trust and find the approach with the least amount of risk. It’s something the human SWAT negotiator failed to do, and he payed for it with his life.

 

Shots fire, the crisp sound startling loud in his headphones. The last thing Hank sees before the screen cuts to black is the damaged deviant android falling to the ground and the calm, unfazed countenance of the negotiator as it walks away. Hank turns off the screen, leaning back in his seat. He yanks the headphones off of his head, haphazardly throwing them onto his desk next Captain Allen’s report of the situation. Like the video, he’s already spent hours agonising over every detail of the report.

 

_Three human casualties: The first victim John Phillips from multiple gunshot wounds to the chest and abdomen, SWAT negotiator Thomas Foust from a fatal headshot wound, and DCPD first responder Antony Deckart from a fatal gunshot wound to the chest._

 

_Multiple non-lethal injuries sustained across SWAT personnel, including bullet flesh wounds to the extremities and shots fired into kevlar. DCPD first responder, Officer Ian Robinson, sustained a gunshot wound to the upper arm. The android negotiator managed to apply a tourniquet while approaching the hostile android to reduce blood loss, saving the officer’s life._

 

_CyberLife’s android surveyed the crime scene, providing the team with instant temporal analysis and a summary of the events. It knew exactly what to say to the hostile android to manipulate it into releasing Emma Phillips, daughter of the first victim._

 

_As soon as the civilian was free from SWATs crosshairs, officers opened fire on the hostile android, neutralising it._

 

 _There were_ no _additional casualties or serious injuries after the android negotiator arrived on scene._

 

_Conclusion: while protocol was strictly followed and all officers were up to date with their training, the SWAT team would have not been able to save Emma Phillips’ life without the aid of the android negotiator._

 

Hank rubs tiredly at his eyes, resting his elbows on the desk and letting his head hang. Nausea from his hangover still pulsates painfully at the back of his head, the scent of cigarette smoke and old beer clinging to his clothes and making his stomach churn. He wishes he could start the night over and change everything, every decision he made and every goddamn consequence that followed.

 

“Lieutenant Anderson?”    

 

After an extended pause, Hank bites the inside of his cheek and lifts his head. “How can I help you, Miller?”

 

“Captain Fowler wants to see you in his office, sir.” the officer states softly, sadness swimming in his eyes.

 

Officer Chris Miller, another one of the DCPD’s newest recruits. Hank has been working with rookie recently, whenever he’d managed to drag himself out of bed and actually come to work. The younger officer shows considerable potential, having graduated top of his class at the police academy, but Hank wonders how long it will take for the job to break Miller’s spirit, how long it will take for his his naive optimism to fade. Honestly, Hank can barely stand the way Miller looks at him, like he's some sort of respectable role model within the force.

 

Maybe it’s his long career, maybe it’s all he’s given to the job, or maybe it’s all he’s lost along the way.

 

“Thanks, Miller.” Hank pushes away from his desk.

 

“I just wanted say that it wasn’t your fault, last night I mean.” Miller hesitates, his voice cautious. “We all said that you could go home. In everyone's eyes, you’d already clocked off for the day. What happened with Robinson and Deckart… no-one could have known. It could have been anyone last night, Lieutenant.”

 

_But it should have been me._

 

Hank gives a sharp nod, his lips pursing into a tight smile. “Thanks, Miller.”

 

He quickly turns, quickly striding toward Fowler’s office at the centre of the precinct before Miller can say any more.

 

Without bothering to knock, Hank steps into the office. “You wanted to see me, Captain?”

 

“Have a seat, Hank.” Fowler gives him a once over before refocusing on the file in front of him. “You look like shit.”

 

“I feel like shit.” Hank lowers himself into the chair.

 

“Good.” Fowler throws the file down, yelling across the desk, “What the hell were you thinking, Hank? Leaving the rookies on their own. You were meant to be looking out for them, and then I hear you left them to go drinking down at Jimmy’s bar while they covered for you.”

 

Hank rubs his hands together, his brow furrowing. “I know I fucked up. I… I just needed to get out of the precinct. It was a long day, and I just didn’t think. I should have stayed. I’m sorry. I’ll hand in my badge if that’s what you decide.”

 

“As much at I would like to do that, I know that last night happened by chance.” Fowler sighs, running a hand over his head. “I don’t fucking like it and I definitely do _not_ forgive you for leaving your post while on duty, but it could have happened to anyone. It shouldn’t have happened, but it did. You need to accept that and move on, Hank. You wallowing in self-hatred isn’t going to fix or undo anything.”

 

Hank sucks in a breath. “I know. I know…”

 

“I spent the morning with Rachael. We’re going to hold a service for Deckart on Friday.” Fowler states softly.

 

“I’ll be there.”

 

“In the meantime, I’m putting you back on active duty. There has been a homicide and I need you to go and inspect the crime scene. I would send Reed, but his bias would compromise the investigation. So unfortunately, I need you out there.”  

 

Hank glances up at Fowler, surprised. “Reed? Bias? Don’t fucking tell me that it has to do with-”

 

“The perpetrator is thought to be a deviant android, the victims personal unit to be more precise.” Fowler interrupts, ignoring the anger building in Hank’s expression. “Due to last night's events, and the nature of this homicide, the FBI are getting involved temporarily to ascertain whether the threat of deviancy is larger than anticipated. You will be working alongside one of their agents in all cases regarding deviant androids.”

 

“Don’t say it, please don’t tell me it’s who I think it is.”

 

“Special Agent Perkins will be joining you at the crime scene.” Fowler frowns, clearly not happy with the personnel assignment either. “Do _not_ assault him again, Hank. I barely managed to get him to drop the charges last time.”

 

“If he wasn’t such a condescending jerk all the time, maybe I wouldn’t have to punch him.” Hank crosses his arms, still proud of the right hook punch he’d thrown.

 

Fowler gives him a pointed look.

 

“There’s also one other thing…”

 

“What?” Hank grumbles, “What else could there possibly be?”

 

“Besides from the FBI sticking their noses in where it doesn’t belong, there will an external expert joining you in your investigations, one that you will be working quite closely with.” Fowler picks up the file from his desk, flipping it open. “They’ll be your partner for the duration of the deviant case.”

 

“I don’t need a partner.” Hank seethes. “I don’t want one either.”  

 

“Cry me a fucking river. Since you’ve been acting irrationally and impulsively, you don’t get a say in the matter. Plus, it’s an order from the higher ups.”

 

“Well, when is this _partner_ getting here? So I can fucking yell at them before we head to the crime scene.”

 

“It won’t be long, it-”

 

Fowler’s words are interrupted by a couple of sharp knocks on the glass office door. Hank barely has time to glance over his shoulder when the figure enters the room, coming to a halt beside Hank.

 

Hank can’t believe it.

 

“Ah, fuck.”

 

“Lieutenant Anderson, my name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife.”

 


End file.
